The Pentagram
by Jessie Rose 911
Summary: Tony's parents didn't die in a car crash like the rest of the world thought they did. This is the story of thier deaths, and Tony's role in them. The woman he meets during that time will help shape him into the hero he will become. Will contain slash eventually. AU. OFC major character. Please review!


**AN: Hey ya'll, long time no see! I'm dipping my fingers into the Avengers fandom! YAY! Just to let you guys know, this is an AU set in the present, but everyone is quite young (about 17 at the beginning and will be about 24 at the end). Everyone still has their powers or will get them during the course of the plot. I posted this on my tumblr, ( blog/fangirlofrandomshit1) so don't worry, no one is stealing. Sorry for all the unfinished stories, but my mind likes to jump from plot to plot. Hazard of following me/my stories I suppose D:**

Tony crept into his father's study, eyes on the liquor bottle open on the desk. His parents' voices continued to rise out in the foyer of the Stark mansion. The teenager paid them no mind. His mother was finally getting a backbone when it came to Howard, but it was too little, too late in Tony's opinion. The only thing that changed in Stark home life was the amount of shouting matches.

Don't get him wrong, Tony loved his mother – she had cuddled and loved him during his early childhood, but by the time he had turned eight (arguably smarter than his father even then) she had distanced herself. Tony didn't blame her in retrospect. He was well on his way to being a mini-Howard it seemed back then. He liked to think that wasn't the case now.

Howard, however, he didn't think he ever loved. Maybe he had as a small child, when his genius mind was still too young to know he had any other option. He was a man with bitterness shaping his fangs and a liquor tongue. Unpredictable and vicious, Tony wanted nothing to do with him; not even the approval he craved as a preteen. At least that's what he told himself.

Tony had his fingers around the neck of the bottle when his parents' voices reached an earsplitting level. Suddenly his mother screamed and there was a gunshot. Tony gasped and dropped the bottle, not noticing when it crashed to the floor and shattered into thousands of alcohol soaked shards. His heart stopped then restarted going double time. He dashed from the study. He reached the foyer in seconds, but it was seconds too late.

Maria Stark lay in a growing pool of her own blood, blank eyes staring at the ceiling. "MOM!" Tony howled as he dropped to his knees at her side. He put his hands on the gaping wound on her chest to try and staunch the flow, but he knew she was already dead. "Mom! Mommy…" His voice shook and broke, making him sound like a small child. He was having trouble seeing, the tears coming thick and fast.

"Youuuuu…pathetic…._bassstrd,_" Howard slurred from behind him. Tony blinked out the worst of the tears and looked up at the man, shivering and shaking from suppressed sobs. Howard was weaving back and forth as he stood, spit flecks around his mouth and fever bright eyes making him look crazed. In one hand was a bottle of whiskey, mostly empty, and in the other was a nine millimeter hand gun. "Sssspawn a' tha' she-devl. Kil you too…"

Tony's shaking increased and his eyes were wide as Howard raised the gun. Tony couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His heart had stopped, his _brain_ had stopped and he could only watch as Howard took aim. He pulled the trigger and swayed violently at the same time. A searing pain flashed across Tony's left cheek as he flinched. The pain startled him into action. He leapt away from his mother's body and ran out the front door. His father's drunken raging followed him out.

He kept running. He couldn't stop. Fear and grief warred in his chest and fear largely won out.

It was dark even though it was fairly early in the evening. It was cold and wet, late October, and a storm was moving in. By the time Tony had slowed down, his thin black hoodie was soaked through and he was shivering violently from cold. He was also very lost.

How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? His mother…his mom was _dead._ His own father had killed her, then and tried to kill him too.

He went to cover his mouth with his hand to stifle a whimper, but stopped short. His hands were still covered in Maria's blood. Blood was also smeared in and on the front pockets of his hoodie, and on the knees of his jeans from when he had kneeled beside her. He made a choked off sound and leaned against the nearest wall. Pedestrians kept bumping into him, not even sparing him a glance.

He stumbled into an alley and slithered down the wall to sit beside a dumpster. He started choking and sobbing, doing his best to bury his face in his own shoulder. That was how she found him.

She exited the back of the shabby little occult shop and turned to lock the door. She was tired, having spent all day chasing out curious trouble-makers, bending over backwards to service loyal regulars, and putting up with her mentally unstable boss. "Madam Blacknight" had finally spit at her to close up at nine pm and not a minute sooner as she wobbled her fat self out the door an hour ago. Since then business had been dead. A growing sort of anxiety had taken root in her. _Be ready_ this feeling seemed to say. So not only was she tired, she was tense.

She had just convinced the old lock to cooperate when she heard it. A shivery sob reached her ear and she snapped her head up – freezing and straining to hear more. There came a noisy, shakily drawn inhale and a whimper on the exhale.

"Hello?" she called, peering around the alley. No one answered. From in front of the back door, the only place someone could hide themselves completely from her eyes was behind the only dumpster in the alley. Clutching her purse to her chest, she peeked around the dumpster's side. "Oh dear goddess! Sir, are you alright?"

_Stupid question_ she thought grimly as she looked him over and crouched in front of him. A gash on his cheekbone was bleeding freely, and he was soaking wet and shivering in his thin jacket. He was trying to hide in his own shoulder, and it wasn't really working. He regarded her with one wide, bloodshot eye, and she wondered if he was shivering from cold or from crying. She was sure he'd get hypothermia if he stayed out here though.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" she asked as she gently touched his knee. He flinched and shook his head slowly. If possible, his shivering increased.

He couldn't be any older than her; not all that tall and rather thin. His face was angular and handsome, but his eyes were huge and scared and even in the dim light she could tell they were beautiful. Damn her bleeding heart; she couldn't afford to take in a stray!

She sighed. "Come on," she stood and held out her hand. "Let's get you dry. You're gonna catch your death." He finally stopped trying to dig his nose into his clavicle and looked at her straight on. He studied her uncertainly before tentatively reaching for her hand.

He stopped and froze, staring at his own hand. His lip trembled, and she could see why. Despite the rain, the creases of his hand were caked with half dried blood. It gave her pause, but she decided he needed help more than she had originally thought. She hefted her purse onto her left shoulder and rolled up her right sleeve. Wincing internally but giving no outward sign, she took his still outstretched hand. His head snapped up to looker in the eye, to search her soul and she suddenly prayed that he found what he was looking for. He must have found it, because his grip tightened and she helped him get stiffly to his feet.

Neither said anything as she gently led him through the alley and then out into the real world.


End file.
